Collar
by Dark enchanter
Summary: Zweegle/guntz oneshot anthology. Slash D/s. See my profile for more info.
1. Beckon

**Author note: **Hello and welcome to my Guntz/Zweegle anthology, Collar, which will be updated every Thursday till completion. Most of these fics are rated M for mature, and feature a fair amount of homosexuality and D/s (Dominance and Submission). This first one, however, is T, to help introduce the concepts. After the first few, however, the gloves are coming off!

**Disclaimer: **I don't own any of the Klonoa characters, they belong to Namco and Klonoa works. My representation of these characters is by no means a reflection of their behavior within the established canon, and is entirely of my own making.

**Beckon**

Guntz was sprawled out on the old and partially moth-eaten rug, resting his head on his arms and looking up at his master in the chair in front of him. The aforementioned purple-skinned vampire was leaning back in his armchair, a nineteenth century Gothic-romance novel clutched in his paws. A typical early morning scenario.

It was about an hour before sunrise, not that you would be able to tell that from inside the room. Thick blackout curtains covered the only window and were pegged shut to prevent them from coming undone by mistake. With its olden-style décor and disconnection with the outside world, it would be easy to believe that the room itself was frozen in an age gone by, completely separate from everything and everyone else. And that is exactly how the pair liked it.

Zweegle flicked over a page, and Guntz let out a small yawn. It was getting late, and he was eager to go to bed and get some rest. But whether he did or not was entirely at his masters discretion. Lifting his head up, he looked back over at him, hoping to catch his attention and get him to take some pity on him. Zweegle's eyes, however, stayed firmly on the page in front of him, the novel being of far too much interest for him to notice anything else. Guntz lowered his head to the ground again. He would have to wait.

Waiting, however, was something the wolf could handle well enough. He had waited for over seventeen years to find somebody to take him in. Someone to care from him. Somebody who understood the language of pain. Of sorrow, rejection. Of killing.

Two beings, one who lived to kill, one who killed to live. One who struck fear into the hearts of the entire country, and the one whom feared their merciless wrath. They really weren't that much different, now that he thought about it. Both sides of the same twisted coin, each envious of the other. Who could have imagined them taking comfort in each other's presence?

He closed his eyes for a second, listening to the light crackle of the fireplace and enjoying the soft but worn touch of the rug beneath him. Could life get any better than it was now? He surmised that it could not.

The sound of another page turning could be heard, and the wolfs heart skipped a beat. That was one step closer to bed, which was of course one step closer to being with his master. One step closer to being in his arms, the others hands running themselves up and down his body without restraint. His tail flicked back and forth impatiently, it being the only real give-away to his thoughts. The rest of his body lay stock still, waiting for a sign.

As if he could sense the others impatience, the vampire slid the thin piece of ribbon between the pages of his book and snapped it shut, the sound being music to the ears of the younger boy. He raised his head, and their eyes met as Zweegle removed his reading glasses and placed them delicately on the book beside him. Finally done with his little ritual, he brought a hand in front of his face and, extending his index finger, beckoned his pet closer.

The wolf began to crawl towards him cautiously, not daring to make a sudden movement and spoil his chances. Reaching the chair, he hauled himself up and placed his head in the crook of the others neck, winding his hands around his waist and snuggling closer as he did so. Finally settled, he let out a contented sigh.

Zweegle allowed a rare smile to show on his face, confident that no-one could see him do so. Though, at that moment, it really didn't matter if anyone could see him or not. He was in a state of complete bliss, and that was all that mattered.

"Someone's affectionate tonight..." The vamp muttered idly as he scratched the wolf behind his ears. Guntz leaned into the hand and gently nodded his head in agreement. "You about ready for bed then?" Another nod. Zweegle stood up slowly, allowing his partner to get to his feet as well. Linking hands, he lead Guntz slowly and seductively to the bedroom, his eyes not leaving him for a second.

Reaching the large, round bed that dominated most of the room, Zweegle pulled back the covers and slid beneath them, holding them open for Guntz. The wolf immediately took the invitation, settling himself in next to the vampire. After this was done, the covers were drawn back over them, encasing them within their own little world.

The vampire scooped his lover into his embrace and held him possessively, clutching so tight that his claw like fingernails almost drew blood. Guntz simply buried himself deeper into the other's chest, treasuring the mere comfort of his master's closeness. It was a far-cry from his days on the battlefield, where the living would run in terror, and the only contact he had with anyone was through his fists and boots.

And for the elder, the embrace was just as exciting. To have somebody within his grasp, bowing before HIS power. No longer the hunted, sulking in the shadows and hiding from the mob. Feeding off the blood of rats in dilapidated alleyways, and living in squalid warehouses and abandoned buildings. Now, he had the hunter to go out, to do it for him. All at his own orders. It was the power he had always dreamed of.

To anyone watching the pair; one possessively griping the other, while they innocently lay there and accepted it, it was hard to tell which one was the happiest.

* * *

Wow, short first chapter. I'll try and make them a little longer in the future, but I kinda like how this one turned out, it doesn't feel artificially stretched out, like some of mine tend to do. Anyway, feel free to leave a comment, I'll try my hardest to respond to all of them.


	2. Quill

**Authors note:** And we're back for chapter two. Glad you all enjoyed the last chapter, hopefully you'll enjoy this chapter just as much. Oh, and also, be sure to look out for the word of the week:

Inamorato: Male lover or man who is loved.

Man, I love thesaurus's.

**Quill**

The slender, red candle cast an eerie glow onto the room, flickering gently in the breeze as it blew in through the window, fluttering the curtains as it passed and letting the smell of the night air drift through the small the writing desk, a sapphire quill danced atop a roll of parchment, held tight in its masters grip as it spun its trail of golden web into prose. Every so often the writer would stop to think, dip his quill into the ink pot and make some alterations to what he had just written, sometimes going as far as to scribble it all out and start over.

After several minutes of frantic scratching, dipping and scribbling, he lay down his feather pen and looked back over his work. Frowning, he scrunched it into a ball, and without hesitation, dropped it neatly into the waste paper basket by his side.

He sighed, and looked over to the clock, whose constant ticking had been the only companion to his scribbling. A quarter past three? Surly he had not been writing as long? He looked back to his desk and saw the candle, fat tears of wax marring its otherwise perfect surface. Perhaps he has been working that long.

He stretched himself out and rose from his seat, crossing over to the window to rest his elbows on it and look up at the stars. He stood there unmoving for several minutes, staring transfixed into the abyss laid out before him, seemingly lost in his own thoughts.

"I want him."

He gazed back at the stars, as if hoping for a response from them. But of course, no reply came. He lowered his head, feeling somewhat foolish, but pressed on regardless.

"I want him so badly, so badly that it fucking hurts, but I still don't know why? I mean, why him, of all people? There's no reason why I should be, Nobody else seems to want him, seems to appreciate him for what he is, who he is. No-one else seems to care." A tear slid down his nose, falling onto the window-ledge, but he hardly even noticed, too wrapped up in his own thoughts to focus on anything but his self-destructive rant.

"So, why can't I have him? Why can't I tell him how I feel? Why is it so God-damned hard? I just want him... to be mine." He was properly crying by this point; his body was shaking from the sobbing and grief, and tears were now flowing freely from both eyes.

Suddenly, the shaking stopped, and his hand clenched the windowsill tightly, claws tearing grooves in the wood. "NO!" He growled, spitting the word out around his clenched teeth., "I'm not about to give up on this!" The words were rising up from deep inside his body, forcing their way up through his throat before he even knew what he was going to say. He was rapidly approaching mania, but he really didn't care. He didn't really care much about anything, except for them problem at hand.

And he knew he wasn't going to just sit there and cry to himself over it, not any more. No, he was going to take action, was going to do something, anything, to insure his inamorato's affections. He glanced back at the desk, where his candle was still burning, and the quill sat waiting his attention.

He padded over to it, snatching the feather up and pulling another roll of parchment from his desk. Dipping the quill into the inkwell, he still had no idea what he was going to write, but he refused to let such a simple fact stand in his way. His own indecisiveness be damned! Bringing the top of his pen to the page, he jotted down the first thing that came to his head. Then the next thing. And the next.

His hand almost became a blur as it tried in vain to keep up with the vampires train of thought, whipping back and forth between pot and page as the writing followed out of his, rolls and rolls of crazed, spontaneous writing spewing directly out of his subconscious and onto the paper in front of him. Even when on the page, it darted back and forth along his writings, correcting, improving, re-arranging. His waste basket soon began to overflow with paper, but he couldn't care less. He was getting close; closer and closer still.

Finally, he stopped.

There, in front of him was everything he wanted to say, everything he had been feeling for so long. Nervously, he picked the paper up, staring in a mixture of fear and disbelief at the words. Yes, this was exactly what he wanted to say. The real question, however, was would he would be able to say them?

For what must have been the millionth time, Zweegle wondered what he was doing. It wasn't too late for him to turn back now, he hadn't done any permanent damage. Not yet. But if he knocked on the door, then that was it. No chance to back out. Slowly extending a sweaty, shaking hand, he curled it into a fist and rapped his knuckles gingerly against the door, first lightly, but then loud enough to be heard.

He snapped his hand back to his side, trying to assume a pose that would look 'natural'. He was so nervous, the thought of running still played back in his mind. Maybe it wasn't too late, maybe he could still escape?

He heard footsteps approaching from beyond the door, and he finally made up his mind, trying as hard as he could to stand up straight and act normal. The handle turned, and the door swung open, revealing the object of the vampires affections.

"Zweegle?" Guntz asked, wondering what the vampire was doing standing on his doorstep, especially so early in the morning. The sun had barely begun to rise!

"Hi, umm... I-I wanted to ask, uh tell you something?" Zweegle stumbled over his words, barely knowing what he was supposed to be saying. Guntz looked on curiously as the lizard tried to force the words out. "Guntz.?" He asked, nervously, his throat feeling as dry as a desert.

"Yes?"

"I- I love you." The vampire answered.

* * *

Heh, sometimes what you want to say is so simple, it's just right there in front of you! Anyway, this chapter took absolutely forever to write, in essence, it's a fic about a character having writers block, written by a writer with writers block. Hooray for meta-fiction.


	3. Disjointed

**Author Note:** Well, here we are, M rated territory. And to think, it only took three fics to get here. Ah well. Rambling Zweegle POV. Written when drunk and hating the world, later edited when I was feeling better. Like most of my emo fics -.-

**Disjointed**

I look over my arm one last time, pondering if I've done enough. It's numb now, the only way I can even tell what I've done to it is by the blood. Running down my forearm in large seeping flows. Ribbons of red. Putting down the shard of glass, I press my finger against it, trying to feel something. A slight sting, present against the numbness. Good, I think that's about right. I stand up, slightly disorientated, and brush the dust off of me. Alleyways are hardly the most sanitary places to be seated.

I glance over to the moo, now laying face down in the dirt, completely stationary. My latest snack. Sometimes, seeing them like this makes me feel sympathetic, but I don't know why. Either way, I don't suppose it matters. One of us has to live, and to be fair, they die by the dozen. Never phases them, another one appears straight away and they just start moving along like nothing ever happened. Blissfully unaware of the matters of life, and death. How simple. How I envy them.

I scramble up the wall nearest to me and perch on top of the building, surveying the world around me. It's too late for any real activity, but there's always something happening, no matter what time of the day. People walking home after a late night visit to somewhere special, or staggering home after a long nights drinking. Of course, there's always _that one_.

I turn myself around and face the house he lives at, looking for any sign of movement. I don't see any, but no matter. I can wait all night if I have to. I have in the past. My patience is always rewarded in that respect, he always returns. Even if I have to wait till early morning, and risk scorching my tender skin, he'll return. One of the few stable things in my life.

I don't know why I always sit here, waiting for him, but I do. It passes the time I suppose. But why always him, and never somebody else? What is it about him that's so fascinating? I mean, yes, he's well known, a celebratory almost, if such a word could ever suit him. But it's not like that has ever mattered to me before. People don't normally matter to me, so why now?

It feels like I can have such an insight to his personality, just from looking at him, observing him. Following his movements. Almost I can feel all his pain and his sorrow. And they're so familiar to me. The scars on his wrist, they're familiar to me. They match mine. I kinda like that, that we've got something in common. That and the killing.

I don't understand his killing. I have to kill, to live, it's pretty much unavoidable. Like when I used to keep a rabbit, you know, as a pet? I named him Horatio. I kept it for a while, looked after it, and all that shit? He was my best friend, and all the company I had. I'd feed him, look after him, everything. Then one day, I got hungry, and before you know it, I was biting his head off and sucking down on his neck, trading his life in for one measly snack. That's life, that's all it means to me. But him, he doesn't have to kill. He has enough money to get by, he must be near a millionaire by now, or he would be if he'd just stop buying his guns.

Ah, his guns. I like watching him when he gets a new gun, he's always so protective of it, he keeps it under his arm and cradles it, protecting it from harm. And when he goes in the house, you can see he leaves his light on for ages afterwards, he stays awake, probably to clean it. He takes care of them. Next time you see it, it's in a holster, splattered with blood. Within a day, it's clean again. His baby out there on the battlefield.

He treats his guns better then I treated Horatio. Gives metal more respect than I gave flesh. I only wish I had treated him better while I still had him, then I may still have had his company, even now. When I really need it.

You know, if he was my pet, I'd make sure I took better care of him. I know it sounds like empty promises, especially with my track record, but I really mean it; I'd do my best not to hurt him, to make him happy. Take him away from all the killing. At least one of us should be able to go without it.

I don't know why I'm even thinking about such things, I mean, it sounds like I'm, in love with him. But that's just stupid. Vampires don't love, we just weren't built for it. We were built for killing. Built for exile. That's why we cannot face the sun, as it keeps us away from those who would do us harm. Yet, I do face the sun, I face it just to see him, if only for the few minutes till he gets to his house. It's the thoughts like this that make me really feel out of place, that make me question what I'm doing with my life. Heh, life. Don't even talk to me about life.

Finally, I spot him in the distance, walking towards his home. Alone, as always. Except for his guns. How I envy his guns. Always there, covered in blood. Like me. But of course, his guns are always clean again when they leave the house, whereas I will never get the blood off my hands.

As he nears, it occurs to me just how easily I could drop down it from of him, slashing at him with my claws and killing him before he even gets a shot in. Because, despite how close I've gotten to him, night after night, he never even notices I'm there. Maybe he just lets his guard down, that close to his home. Or maybe he just doesn't care. I just don't matter to him.

He walks on past me, as he always does, and walks straight into his house, no wiser to my presence than he was before. One of these days, I'm going to drop down, make sure he knows who I am. Maybe find out why I'm so drawn to him. One day. It's always one day.

I turn round and head back to my home, the crappy little shack on the edge of town, away from everyone. Empty, save for a cage, sitting in the corner of the room. The tiny skeleton in it lies there, his silence telling me more than I wanted to hear.

* * *

**Fun trivia facts:** The rabbit is named after a rabbit skeleton me and my friends found in an old cold war bunker, which in turn we had named after the dude from CSI: Miami. Working names for the bunny were 'Chibi' and 'Rock and Roll'.


	4. Monsters

**Authors Note:** And here we are for chapter four. Are we having fun yet? Lots of lovely gun-slinging and fighting in this one, for those of you getting tired of the increasingly emo romancing going on in earlier chapters. Not that there won't be more of that later on (grins)

**Word of the week:** Porporate, meaning to be clad in purple. Useful for describing Zweegle, I run out of adjectives far too often for him seeing as we don't know anything about his species or occupation (though I still think he's a reptile of some kind).

**Monsters**

It was nearly sunset over the small town of Volk, and the townspeople were busying themselves on their final errands, strolling home to meet their families or heading to the saloon for a nights heavily drinking. It had been a warm and peaceful summers day, with no signs of trouble whatsoever. Though, with the toughest sheriff in the whole West on watch, this was the norm.

The shadows of cacti stretched for meters, looming over the land like silent watchmen, guarding the townspeople into the night. None of these mighty guardians were as intimidating as the shadow of the sheriff as he stood before the shooting range, revolver in each hand, lining up his shot. His eyes narrowed as he stared down each gun, concentrated on each target in the row and how to hit them. Without warning, he let off the first pair of rounds.

_**!**_

As the shots echoed through the town, the people walking the streets stopped and listened, holding their breath for the second shot, which came as sure as the dawn after dusk.

_**!**_

The sound reverberated through the saloon, and the brawls stopped instantly. The sound of the sheriffs gun could turn even the most hardened thugs and hoodlums legs to jelly.

_**!**_

Not even the animals were spared from the fear of the noise. The cattle stopped eating, the crows stopped crowing and even the horses stopped in their tracks as the universal sound of death made its way across the land.

_**!**_

In the cells, the prisoners cowered in fear, clutching their wounds and silently thanking the goddess that their encounter with those very guns had not been a fatal one.

_**!**_

The towns children rushed to their bedroom windows excitedly, desperate to catch even a glimpse of their hero in action.

_**!**_

As the last shot made its way through the air, the populace let out a collective sigh of relief. It was over. Or at least, until tomorrow.

* * *

Guntz flicked open the cylinders on both guns, spilling the spent cartridges onto the hot, cracked ground. Pressing each gun to the ammo belts slung over each shoulder, he loaded each gun simultaneously, feeding each bullet and spinning the chamber with his free thumbs at a speed that could only come from the death-god himself. Within seconds he was clicking the cylinders back into place, ready to fire again if need be.

Not that he had ever needed to. As always, twelve used food cans lay on the ground by his makeshift firing range, each one with a bullet hole on each side. A perfect hit on each one. Inhaling deeply the scent of gunpowder still lingering fresh in the air, be turned and walked back into his office, his days practice over.

Entering the building, he found his deputy exactly how he had left him, slumped over his desk, his fluffy black ears spilling off the edge and dangling uselessly down the side. Guntz just ignored him and sat down at his desk, putting his dusty boots on the table and reaching for the gun polish. He liked to keep his Twin Fire pistols in good condition, after all.

It was just as he had started his routine gun maintenance when a villager burst into the office, panting heavily. She stopped for a second to catch her breath, before bowing slightly towards the man.

"Mister Guntz, sir," She managed to choke out, still gasping for breath and holding onto the wall for support, "I'm sorry to bother you sir but..." She trailed off, clearly intimidated by the menacing official.

"Go on." He tipped his hat up to look at the girl properly. She was one of the priestess girls, dressed in her pink dress and hat. She could hardly have been more than twelve. Any problem she had would surely not being anything of any real concern?

"A vampyre sir! There's a vampyre holed up in the barn in old town, a little more than a mile due south from here!" She was clearly hysterical, partially from the shock, and partially from the lack of oxygen; had she just run the whole mile in one go?

Without another word, the sheriff rose to his feet and grabbed an ammo belt off the rack on his way out. He gave brief consideration to waking his partner, but decided against it. It was getting late, and he was still young; to bring him along would be little more than a liability.

He marched through the doors and headed immediately towards his horse, a young chestnut-coloured American quarter horse. He untied it and, placing his foot in the stirrup, vaulted effortlessly onto its back.

"Come on girl," he muttered, tugging on the reigns to coax it into moving, "we've got work to do."

* * *

He arrived at the barn in a matter of minutes, dismounting effortlessly and entering the barn without tying up his precious steed. He needed her ready to go at a moments notice. Vampires were tricky creatures.

Old town. A disused part of the town that had since given way to rot and disrepair. He had grown up here as a child many years ago, but, like the rest of the village folk, had moved North when the town was getting developed. Now it was nothing more than a ghost town, a place for the young to get their kicks and the old to reminisce on their childhood memories. The barn stood on the outskirts of the town, looking in. An outcast, much like Guntz himself.

Only a few buildings away was the town square, where criminals were executed in front of the village-folk, baying for their blood to be spilt. Hundreds of outlaws had met their ends here; tied to the wooden post in the centre and shot. If they didn't die from the bullet, they were left for the folbie, who had circled above the square each night in hopes of a corpse to pick at.

Guntz turned his back on the square and headed towards the barn. He wasn't too fond of old-town, and was eager to get this over and done with.

The inside of the barn was as dark as death, with the limited light of the setting sun coming in only through the small window on the far side, casting long and sinister shadows towards the intruder. Guntz had both pistols drawn, moving forward one step at a time to avoid the creature getting the drop on him. It would be just his luck to get jumped all the way out here, with no-one around to rescue him.

The light jangling of his spurs as he stepped and the creaking of the barn in the wind were the only sounds to be heard in the decrepit building, but that didn't make him feel any safer. What if the vamp wasn't in the barn at all, and was right now sneaking up on him from behind? He turned his head sharply to look, and in that same moment footsteps could be heard running across the rafters. His head snapped back into position, but it was too late, what ever was moving had stopped. He pointed his guns upwards, in case they decided to show themselves. It wasn't until he saw the purple feet staring down at him that he knew the creature had made its move.

The kick hit him square in the face, knocking him back out of the barn door and on his rear, with his guns dropping either side of him. He scrambled back to his feet, snatching up his guns as he went. Looking around, there was no sign of his attacker, everything looking exactly as it had when he first arrived. He couldn't have gotten far running; the sun was still up. That said, it wouldn't be long before nightfall, and the monster would be given free reign of the land. Guntz wouldn't let that happen. Not if he had anything to do with it.

He walked back over to his steed, ever-careful not to let the barn out of his sight. He had a trick for scenarios such as this one. Reaching into the saddlebag, he prised open one of the smaller pockets, retrieving a small metal tin of matches. Some further rummaging in the main compartment also yielded a stick of dynamite.

'Always useful for flushing out the tricky ones,' he thought to himself as he walked back to the barn, objects in hand. Stopping several yards before the entrance, he removed a match and struck it on his shoe, before holding the lit match to the gunpowder stick in his hand. "You'd better run, Vampyre, I doubt even the undead can withstand one of these!" A quick toss later, and it was inside the barn. He took a few steps back, and levelled his guns at the door.

Seconds later, a large _**crash**_ echoed through the town, and Guntz looked up to see the vampire bursting though the wall of the barn, claws outstretched and looming over him. The wolf rolled to the side just in time to avoid being struck by the vampire, who immediately upon hitting the ground began to run for shelter from the sun. The wolf, meanwhile, leapt to his feet and gave chase as the barn exploded behind him.

The pair ran straight into another abandoned building, the porporate vampire shouldering his way through the door seconds before the sheriff. However, when the aforementioned gun slinger burst through the door, weapons raised, there was no sign of the bloodsucker anywhere. He could smell him, the stench of burning flesh hung in the air after his brief spell in the sun. But now, it appeared as if he had vanished.

A sharp pain shot through him as the creature jumped onto his back from behind, sinking his claws deep into his chest as it hung on. Guntz howled in agony as he tried desperately to shake his attacker off. Swinging his arms wildly, his gun let of a shot, and a blood curling screech was heard from behind him. Taking advantage of his luck, Guntz backed himself into the nearest wall quickly, hoping to force the assailant off his back. A sickening crunch later and the grip on him relinquished, and the vamp slumped against the wall, dazed.

Guntz wasted no time, grabbing hold of the purple creature's head and forced it through one of the front windows of the building, right into the glare of the setting sun. The vampire screeched again, trashing and clawing at the wolves arm, desperately trying to escape. Guntz just sneered down at him, pulling out his pistol and placing it to his head.

"You're fucked."

And the town once again fell silent.

* * *

It was almost pitch black before Guntz was finished his handiwork. Just in time too, the vamp could awaken any minute.

He looked over to the body tied to the wooden post in the centre, checking it was still there. Tricky things, vampires. You can't kill them by ordinary means, a mistake rookies often make. Many lives had been lost by people who _thought_ they had killed the vamp. Guntz was going to make sure he did the job right. He put down his knife, and held his newly created stake in front of him.

"Stand still. This isn't going to hurt a bit."

* * *

The recoil on the gun forced the young boy backwards, tumbling to the ground and the rifle falling to the ground beside him. The villages rushed to help him back to his feet again, another scooping up the rifle and handing it back to him. Using his weapon to hold himself upright, he looked at the post in front of him. The bullet had been a direct hit, punching a hole right through the chest, which was pumping blood by the gallon. He was still breathing, but not by much.

Guntz turned away, feeling nauseous. He could already feel the bile rising in his throat, and did everything he could to keep it in. Perhaps sensing his discomfort, someone began to lead him away, and the crowd slowly followed suit.

Looking back, he could still see the purple cat, the one who had killed his father, as the folbie made their first swoop...

* * *

Okay, a few points to address here. Yes, it's late, and it's my fault. But, it's here, and that's partially Solitary Shadows fault (who brought me out of my slump last night and convinced me to finish the bloody thing). Been a bit down a late, but that's another story for another time. On the plus side, it's about twice as long as the other chapters, so meh.

So yeah, thanks to Kim for giving me reason to finish this chappie, and thanks to anyone who actually reviews -.-


	5. Drunk

**Drunk**

Stepping from foot-to-foot in time to the music, Lolo swayed drunkenly as she danced, barely keeping her balance from one step to the next. Guntz was sprawled on the couch nearby, leering lecherously at the girl between swigs of his drink. Besides him, Zweegle sat, sipping slowly from his glass and observing the scene in front of him with mild interest. _So this is what Leorina's parties were like..._

The aforementioned pirate was nowhere to be seen at this point, having presumably gone out to collect more drink. Klonoa was already down for the count; his body propped upright against the wall to stop him from choking to death on his own vomit. Tat and Popka were about somewhere; however, with their sudden (simultaneous) disappearance, Zweegle felt it better not to think about it much further.

He turned his gaze back to Lolo, who, against all odds, was still managing to hold herself upright as she continued her dance, becoming more wild and out of time by the second. As Zweegle watched on in fascination, and Guntz in lust, both could agree on one thing; Klonoa was lucky to have her.

A swing to the left too hard, and the inevitable happened, Lolo lost her balance. She flailed her arms, desperately trying to right herself in time, but eventually her feet slipped from beneath her and she toppled backwards, landing in the wolf's grip. He had shot up from his seat so quickly, Zweegle had barely even realized he'd moved till he caught her. The golden death appeared to be the only one immune to the mind-dulling effect of the drinks.

Ensuring that she didn't fall, he lead her back over to the couch, sitting down and pulling her onto his lap. She made no argument otherwise, not really looking in much of a state to say anything to anyone. Instead she just sat there in silence, her head slumped on one shoulder and her eyes struggling to stay open. Guntz buried his nose in her hair, breathing deep her scent as he slowly wound an arm around her waist.

Zweegle watched the scene with a mixture of morbid fascination and horror. What did Guntz think he was doing, taking advantage of the priestess while she was in that state? He really should say something, but what can you really say to a person like that? Not to mention the fact he was hardly feeling too steady himself, he'd be very surprised if he could string a coherent sentence together at this rate.

The wolf continued unheeded in his behavior, stroking her hair almost possessively as the other arm dragged her closer towards his body. Lolo seemed not to mind at all, leaning close to his touch and resting her chest on his. Taking this as a sign to continue, Guntz cupped the girls chin and lifted her head up towards his, and touched their lips together softly. She made no objection, returning the kiss with what looked like a small smile on her face.

Permission granted, he forced his tongue deep into her mouth, receiving a small moan of pleasure in return. Her arms flopped uselessly over his shoulders as he held her tighter, grasping onto her waist and rocking her back and forth across his lap as Zweegle looked on, wondering how far the debauchery would go. Guntz finally broke the kiss, his gaze immediately falling on the purple-skinned vampire.

"She's nice, isn't she?" He slurred, shifting closer to the reptile as he did so, the young priestess still perched on his lap. "Come on, doesn't see look pretty?" While it was the girls ear he whispered this into, it was all too clear it was directed towards the vamp.

Zweegle didn't say anything. Yes, of course he thought that the girl was pretty, who couldn't admit that? But whatever game Guntz was playing, he didn't want a part of it. He'd much rather wait for Leorina to return, drink some shots with her, and pretend this whole thing had never happened. Next thing he felt was the weight of Lolo sitting on his lap, having just been placed there by the golden wolf. Her head immediately slumped onto his shoulder, allowing her full weight to rest on him.

A sudden rush of heat, almost like a burn started to spread from his collar-bone, which he soon realized was the girls warm, slick tongue, working its way up his neck. A jolt of excitement shot through him, and he melted into the seat, enjoying himself far too much to think about the consequences, whatever they may be.

"Okay, that's enough for you." Guntz announced as he pulled the girl away from Zweegle and back onto his own lap, "unless, of course, you'd like to join us?" The vamp nodded slowly in return, and shifted closer to the pair, wondering exactly what he had in mind.

Strong black-furred arms grabbed the pair, and brought them closer to the hunter, so close that their lips all touched. Zweegle instinctively struggled against the hold (as, no doubt Lolo would have, had she been capable) but stopped as soon as he felt a tongue brush messily against his own lips. He opened his mouth, allowing his own tongue to enter the chaos, entwining itself within the others, and slipping from mouth to mouth without any rhyme or reason.

'How can I be so lucky?' Zweegle wondered to himself, as he felt paws caressing his horn and his chest. He had felt so lonely for so long, and now to have two people beside him? It didn't really seem to matter that one was too drunk to know what she was doing, and that the other was just manipulating them both. Entwining his hands deep in soft brown hair and blond neck-fur respectively, he found he hadn't a care in the world.

Slowly and carefully, Guntz repositioned the pair so he had one on each side, still groping and kissing both him and each other, lost in the ecstasy of the moment. Taking hold of their arms, he guided their paws to his chest, then lower and power still till they reached his pants. Breathless with anticipation, Zweegle started tugging at the garment, eager by now to have him, all of him.

The catch on his jeans soon went, and the hunters manhood was soon exposed to the pair of them. Zweegle stared, transfixed, while besides him, Lolo was shifting uncomfortably, trying to get away. Doubtless this was the first time she had seen a male without his clothes, and she was reminded of her vow of chastity. As she tried to get away, Guntz raised an arm to stop her, but the vampire, in turn, stopped him. The priestess staggered out of the room, falling and crawling the last few feet, to attend to her boyfriend. She probably wouldn't even remember this encounter by morning.

Guntz watched her leave, before shrugging to himself and forcing Zweegles head down onto him. _Maybe they should take this upstairs?_ He asked of the reptile. Mouth still full, the purple-skinned male nodded in return.

* * *

It was with a aching body and a splitting headache that Zweegle finally awoke that morning, finding himself in an unfamiliar room, and an unfamiliar bed. Clutching his head in his paw, he rose slowly into a sitting position and tried to make sense of the room in front of him. Save for the bed, it was all pretty empty. Leorina's spare bedroom, he assumed.

Peeling himself away from the covers, he went in search of his clothes which were scattered about the room. Managing to sling them on in a rough interpretation of what they had looked like the night before, he wandered downstairs to see what had became of everyone else.

Debris was everywhere. Empty bottles, mountains of rubbish and mysterious stains coated almost every surface. Looks like Leorina had kept things going long after he had fallen asleep.

Klonoa and Lolo were in a state similar to himself, both stumbling about half-asleep, trying to clean away the destruction. Leo stood in a corner, barking orders to the pair of them, with little evidence of her doing any work herself. They all stopped when Zweegle entered the room, giggling quietly to themselves.

"Have fun last night, did we?" Leo asked first, looking fit to burst with laughter. Zweegle blushed and looked away before answering her.

"How do you-" He started to ask, but was quickly cut off by Lolo, who seemed desperate to tell her story.

"Because she walked in on the pair of you!" She snorted, in a very unpriestess-like manner. "I think she's traumatized for life!"

"On the plus side, I did manage to steal these off of Guntz." Leo added, spinning around to show off her new jeans, the very pair that he would have taken off last night. "He must have, like a dozen pairs of these things. I'm sure he won't mind me taking just one set..." Everyone let out a laugh at this.

"So you don't mind that I...you know?" Zweegle stuttered.

"What, got bummed by the world famous booty hunter." Leo snickered, and everyone burst out laughing. Then, Guntz worked into the room. Wearing a pair of Leo's jeans, no less. "Hey Guntz," Leo started, "did you know that..."

Guntz shot her a look, and she shut up immediately.

"I don't know what you think you're discussing, but I hope you're all aware that it didn't happen. Nothing happened last night. At all." And he stormed off, leaving everyone, especially Zweegle, as confused as ever.

* * *

Uggh, that ending is so NOT depressing enough, but it'll have to do.


	6. Punishment

**Authors Note:** Merry Christmas everybody! How are liking your Christmas fix of Collar so far? I can promise more sex in this one (yay, sex) and hopefully a little shift in tone. Please read and review, reviews make me happy.

**Punishment**

"Don't act like you didn't expect this," Zweegle scolded, undoing the clasp on his cloak, "you had to know this is what would happen." He let the garment fall, leaving it in a pile on the floor behind him as he stepped towards the bed.

"Master, I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I-" Guntz's frantic apology was cut short by a pair of clawed fingers pinching his lips together. He stared up at the vampire, who was now on top of him, staring down with a look of both contempt, and twisted pleasure.

"To think, you haven't learnt yet..." He lectured, almost as one would to a misbehaved child after some minor misdoing. Though, attempted murder is hardly anyone's idea of minor. "If you don't behave," he continued, manoeuvring the wolf's legs with his free hand, "you will get punished." Guntz began to struggle at this, trying to use his arms to push the vampire off. Zweegle took his hand off of the wolf's lips and used it to pin the flailing limbs above his head.

"Zweegle, please! Let me go-Aggghhh" The sharp fingernails dug into the soft flesh of Guntz's wrists, causing him to cry out from pain and twist his body sharply, trying to get away from the abusive vampire. Zweegle held fast, however, burying the digits in deeper until they draw blood. Guntz stopped moving instantly, hissing at the feel of warm blood trickling down his arms.

Switching hands, the lizard lifted his arm to his face and began licking the blood from his arm, his tongue trailing slowly up the falling drips and sucking it off each finger as Guntz watched him. "I thought I told you not to struggle." He looked down at his prey, as if expecting a response, but the wolf stayed silent.

Satisfied that he would not be putting up any more resistance, Zweegle resumed his task of arranging the wolfs legs to his satisfaction. Guntz closed his eyes, feeling his legs being manipulated one way, then the other, and knowing what would come next.

First came the prod, the slightest pressure pushing against his body. Then he felt it going up, overtaking his body. Then the pain. Without meaning to, he let out another shout. A hand caressed the side of his cheek, and he could hear the vampire soothing him.

"Hush," he said, "almost there." He felt himself being filled further, and clenched his teeth against the final wave of agony. It all hit him in one instant, and it was all he could do not to scream. The worst of it over, he allowed his body to relax, letting his body go limp and sucking in mouthfuls of precious oxygen.

"There, that wasn't too difficult." Guntz opened his eyes in time to see to vampire brush his lips against his neck. "You did good." He brought his lips to the wolf's ear, his hot breath making the appendage twitch slightly. "Did it hurt?" He whispered softly, his voice barely audible even to the hunter. He nodded in response. "Well, you should have thought about that earlier now, shouldn't you."

A quick thrust of his hips, and the pain was back. The wolf's back arched, and he let out a low whimper at the unexpected movement. Zweegle grinned, his fangs on full display. "Do you think you've learnt your lesson?" Another nod.

"Yes!" Guntz looked up at him, almost pleading. He wasn't sure how much more of it he could take. The vampire studied his expression for a while, wondering if he really had had enough.

"No, I don't think you have..." Another grind of the hips followed, and another moan from the hunter, this one a lot less strained in nature. "Do you want me to stop now?"

"Don't you dare."

* * *

Hours later, after the vampire was fast asleep, Guntz raised his head from his chest, and looked about the room. He needed to find something, anything, that could be used as a weapon. Seeing as Zweegle had effectively broken his stake in two, he needed something else. Anything else. Guntz was a bounty hunter, after all, in his hands an everyday object could be a deadly weapon.

There, on the tabletop! A candlestick, one of the many used to light the dank chamber he had found himself prisoner in. It certainly looked sturdy enough to do the job. A few hits with that, and he'd have the vampire on the floor, begging him for mercy as he rained the blows down on him. Guntz smiled to himself. It was a nice thought, a nice fantasy. But he knew all to well that the vampire would get one over on him in the end, somehow. And he'd end up as the one on the floor, begging for mercy as Zweegle dished out his 'punishment'.

He buried himself deeper into the vampires embrace, nuzzling close to his chest and closing his eyes. He couldn't wait.

* * *

Ack, another shorty! Still, I think any more would have ruined the flow. This was actually written back in mid-August, yeah, I've been working on this fic for a while now :D

Hopefully I'll have some more Collar goodness for you all soon!


	7. Hidden

**Authors note: **Well well, long time no chapter? Sorry, but I moved out of my parents place on new years day, and don't have proper access to the internet in my new flat. Yay -.- So yeah, stealing internet from a neighbor who must have just moved in or something. Too bad they only switches it on when they're using it, jerk.

**Hidden**

Guntz kept his head down as he was marched up the small set of stairs, as bits of fruit rained down upon both him and the guards unfortunate to be flanking him. While those on the platform tried to get the mob to restrain themselves, their objections were drowned out by the deafening roar of the crowd; all wanted far too much to show the bounty hunter a piece of the suffering he had caused them.

When they reached the centre of the small wooden structure, both guards raised their rifles to the hunters head, bayonets pointing mere inches from his neck. A third guard arrived and carefully unlocked and removed the padlocks binding his hands behind his back, only to force them into the grooves on the pillory in front of him. Grabbing hold of his neck, it too was forced onto the wood, and the device was closed, a padlock holding it securely in place.

Standing back, the abuse of the crowd continued, with stones, bottles and numerous other hard objects now thrown into the mix. The sentinel allowed this to continue for several minutes before motioning to the crowd to cease. The wave of projectiles slowly started to dwindle, albeit reluctantly. A man, dressed in the heighth of Victorian fashion, made his way forward and unrolled a long scroll of parchment, clearing his voice to speak.

"Shinigami Guntz, you stand before us having been found guilty of the following crimes: murder, conspiracy to murder, assault, theft, robbery, arson, espionage, treason, smuggling, perverting the course of justice, kidnapping and other offenses far to numerous to mention. For these crimes, you have been sentenced to three days in the pillory, followed by execution by hanging," There was a loud roar of approval from the crowd at this, "Do you have anything to say before your sentence begins?" The wolf snarled, and thrashed about in his restraints, receiving a rifle-butt to the face for his effort.

"Let the throwing commence!" The mans voice boomed, and the whole square began to cheer and start throwing things once again, with a much greater ferocity than before. The wolf bowed his head and closed his eyes in some small defense against the onslaught, but it did him little good. Within minutes, he was cut and bruised all over, blood covering most of his face and stinging his eyes. How he hoped that the crowd would go a step too far, and just kill him there and then, but of course, the guards would intervene just before then. Couldn't have their prisoner dying before he reached the gallows, could they? Bastards would probably make the rope a foot too short, just to get the pleasure of watching him strangle to death. A final indignity after the years of terror he'd inflicted on them.

It looked like the Golden Death had finally met his end.

* * *

It was the third night of his punishment, and the gallows were steadily growing nearer. In just a short few hours, the sun would rise, and he would be lead to the hangman, to be prepped for that noons festivities. After having the noose tied around his neck, he would be made to stand on the platform and be dropped, to dangle for everyones amusement before being drawn and quartered, his entrails to be displayed for the whole town to see.

By now, he'd decided to go down fighting. He wasn't going to give them the satisfaction of a show, he'd rather die when he stood, a victim of the royal guards. They couldn't well parade his body around with a gunshot wound in the back, now could they?

It was quiet out now, even the drunks had left him to his peace. The only people out now were a pair of sentries, patrolling the area to ensure nobody tried to bust him out. Heh, that was rich. Who'd ever want to spring Shinigami Guntz?

A sound caught his attention over to his left hand side, and he twisted his head to try and see what it was. The wooden bar of the pillory blocked his line of sight, but he could have sworn that it was the sound of...

The sound came again, more to the front. Whipping his head around, he was in time to see one of the guards keeling over onto his knees, blood spurting from a wound in his neck. Did this mean the other guard had been taken out too?

There was a faint _creak_ behind him, the sound of the woodern platform beneith somebodies feet. He twisted and thrashed harder in his restraints, trying to get free, trying to get a look, trying to do _something_. Was this person here to kill him too, someone with their own personal vendetta against him? Vengence meant little unless it was by your own hand, after all. A finger traced its self down his spine, and his whole body went stiff. This was it, this was the end...

"Well, well, well. What do we have here?" The words barely registered to the hunter, he was far too busy trying to place the voice. It was male, and sounded quite upper class, though it could very easily have been put on. Regardless, it was not one that he recognised. Could be the son of one of his victims? He'd taken out some pretty powerful people over the years. "Never thought I'd see you here. Shame for such a pretty thing to wind up in a state like this," he said, brushing some of the glass off of his ears, "but life can be a cruel mistress, I suppose."

"Who are you?" He growled, his patience worn thin by the last three days of torture. If this man was here to kill him, I just wished he get on with it.

"Who am I?" The voice chuckled, "I am your new best friend. I'm here to offer you a deal." He was really close now, hiding just behind the hunters shoulders.

"What sort of a deal?"

"You want revenge, right? On all the men who put you here? I can sort that for you. You can have your second chance."

"So what's the catch?" Another chuckle, and the feel of a hand caressing his thigh.

"Well, I'm giving you what you want," The hand traveled further upwards, and inwards, "so you're going to have to give me what I want..." The wolf froze, realisation kicking in. So this is what it was going to boil down to? His dignity for his reputation, and his life? A deal with the devil, to be sure.

"Deal"

Ah well, he never had a soul to bargin with anyway.

* * *

You know, this is only about 1/3 of what I originally had planned for this story, but I kinda like leaving it here. The full ending was far too optimistic for this part of the story, I think. I'm definatly going to type up the rest of this tale at some point, I'll probably post it as a one-shot or something.

For those of you that are sick of all the Guntz-bashing, don't worry, things will work out better for him in the next chapter! Maybe I'll have my own internet connection by then.

Peace.


	8. Therapy

**Author Note:** Back by popular demand! Well, okay, maybe not but hey, here we are again with another chapter of Collar! And only 14 months since the last one! I wonder how long the next one will take? Don't worry, I have bits of them all drafted and hey, it's only a few more chapters till the end. Maybe I'll get it finished before the two year mark? Enjoy.

**Therapy**

Ask anyone unfortunate enough to encounter the mighty beast Zweegle what they remembered most about him, and you will always get the same answer, regardless of who you ask. In the stories people tell of him, you hear talk of his claws, his fangs, his bloody red eyes. But the thing that sticks out to everyone he meets is his bright purple cloak.

There was nothing particularly special about the cloak, it was a fairly basic (one might even go as far as to say crude) garment, fashioned by the vampire himself out of materials stolen from the more privileged inhabitants of the land. But the cloak was very precious to Zweegle. It represented more than just a hastily cobbled-together piece of cloth. It was his image, his character. It was also his veil from the world, a way of hiding himself. A way of hiding his cuts.

Yes, Zweegle cut. Every night he would sit there, blade in hand, and slowly drag it across the flesh of his arm. His shoulder. His wrist. His leg. His ankle. His chest. Anywhere that looked cut-able, he cut. Blood oozing out of the slices in time with his pulse, gathering and falling to the ground in droplets. Drips. Puddles.

He kept this behaviour from those he encountered. He had happily kept it to himself for a millennia, and he saw no reason why he should reveal his secret now. Not that there were that many people out there willing to get that close to the vampire anyway. Just the one. His 'charge' of sorts.

He'd been looking after him for about a month now. He just showed up one night, out of the blue; Zweegle had found him when searching for food. He was face down in the dirt, unmoving. To be honest, it wasn't really much of a surprise; few creatures could survive in the harsh climate. Heck, he was the only native Hyuponian left! A few small colonies had sprung up since the Kingdom of Sorrow had been reunited with the rest of Lunatea, however even they were struggling to survive. One wolf on its own stood no chance at all.

While Zweegle had never been the most social of creatures, he knew that he to help the poor animal, and in that split moment decided that he should take it into his care. Moving quickly, he grabbed hold of the wolf and, with a little effort, managed to sling him over his shoulder and set off back towards his home.

Home to the antisocial vampire meant one of the many crumbling and decrepit towers that covered the skyline of the sorrowful kingdom. Zweegle's tower was one of the tallest and grandest of the structures, having once belonged to some member of royalty or noblemen. That time was long since lost; the ages having weathered its grandeur, and where once the rich and powerful reigned, it was now in the claws of an undead menace that simply refused to kick the bucket.

Reaching his castle, he headed straight to the bedroom (inconveniently located at the top of the tower) and lay the creature down in his 'bed', which was in reality a couple of moo-skins stretched out and piled up over the floor, to keep the cold out in winter. He checked the wolfs breathing. It was steady, he was still alive. Not for long though, judging by the state he was in.

The vampire hurried outside to get some food, and water, in case his patient needed them when he woke up. He didn't really know anything about medicine, so he hoped that they were all he needed. When he returned a mere ten minutes later, fruit and a bowl of water in hand, in found the wolf thrashing uncontrollably in his makeshift bed. Putting both items down on the floor, he rushed over to the animals side, trying to figure out what was wrong. All of a sudden, the wolf's eyes shot open, staring up at the reptile above him. Panic gripped him, and he started to thrash manically, as if under attack. Still on his back, he used his legs to propel him as far and as fast as he could away from the vampire, refusing to break his gaze for fear of being pounced upon.

The wolf's back pressed against the firm brick of the tower, he having scrambled to the far end of the room in his attempts to escape the purple-clad reptile. His heart thudded in his chest, and his eyes widened, the full horror of the situation dawning upon him. There was no escape, he was cornered like a moo in a trap.

He brought his forearms up in front of his face, expecting the fatal blow. But none came. Instead, when he moved his arms, he saw the vampire still stood there, looking at him with a mixture of curiosity and pity on his face. Bending down slowly, as not to alarm the animal, Zweegle picked his fish-net bag off the floor and pulled from it a small orange fruit. Bending back down, he rolled the food along the floor, watching it come to rest by the wolf's feet.

Leaning forwards, the mammal brought its nose to the mysterious fruit, sniffing carefully, lest it be poison. Seemingly satisfied, he lifted it up in his jaws, and using his hind legs to hold it steady, proceeded to tear large chucks off of it, careful not to let the other out of his sight.

Seconds later, the fruit was no more than a core and a small pile of pips, and Zweegle watched as the creature began to clean his lips and paws. He had never seen someone eat so fast, like most of the food in this wasteland, the fruit was awfully bitter. Then again, there was no telling how long the poor animal had gone without eating for.

Picking up the fruit-bag and water bowl he took a few steps forwards, placed them down and then retreated. A universal sign of offering. The wolf appeared to understand, slowly creeping forwards to lap at the water and eat some more of this strange fruit. Zweegle smiled, his first genuine smile in a long time.

* * *

In the month that followed, the pair began to develop a strong bond between them, and as soon as the wolf was able to walk on its own four paws again, they were inseparable. Every night they would go hunting together, in search of food, and water. It was often a dangerous task, due to the stray packs of moos the dead-lands, and although Zweegle had gotten used to it over the millennia, the help certainly didn't go amiss. His companion seemed desperate to repay the generosity given to him, often standing in front of the vampire like a body-guard.

Watching the wolf tear at a herd of moo was poetry in motion, a black blur leaving a trail of multicoloured explosions and fragmented armour in its wake. Even airborne enemies were subject to the onslaught, with the animal launching itself up on its hind legs, teeth and paws grappling anything unfortunate enough to be in range. He had learnt to leave one alone for Zweegle to feed on, and in return, he would be left some of the rubbery flesh for himself. This, along with the fruit, which appeared to grow almost like a weed wherever it could, now formed the staple of his diet.

After hunting, they would return to the tower together, and the wolf would sit and watch as Zweegle would repair his various pieces of hunting equipment. On this day, it was not to be his weapons he would be repairing, it was his cloak. It had caught on a spindly cactus-type plant while out on the hunt, and had torn quite badly.

The wolf watched, fascinated, as his master retrieved some needle and thread (stolen, like everything else) and removed his cloak to begin sewing it. He looked over the vampire's exposed body with curiosity, not having ever seen him without his treasured garment before this night. In particular he took in all the scars that covered the purple body and arms, including several wounds to the arms that looked like they were only a few weeks old.

He walked over to Zweegle, tail swaying slightly as he did so, and began to nuzzle into the cut-up arms. Zweegle stopped what he was doing and looked down at the animal, with a small and compassionate smile. While the wolf may not have understood the situation fully, but it didn't matter, not really.

Zweegle began to lightly scratch behind the wolf's ears, which he appeared to really like. "Don't worry about me. I don't think I'll be doing any of this any more." The wolf appeared to understand, and lay down beside him, with his head rested on Zweegle's leg. Within a few minutes he was asleep, apparently content that his master was safe.

Zweegle looked down at the cloak he was supposed to be stitching, and then back to his companion. Lifting him as carefully as he could, as not to wake him up, he placed him into bed, then curled up right next to him.

The cloak can wait, at least for one day, he thought before falling to sleep, right by his beloved pet.

* * *

Any thoughts, please leave them in a review, I promise to respond to each and every one of you!

Hey, poet and didn't know it!


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